


as the wind goes

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post Radiant Dawn Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 21:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19281736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ike intended to set out alone. He should have known better.





	as the wind goes

**Author's Note:**

> it’s pride month, also known as best boy’s month. we like ike! and his two boyfriends. pls enjoy!

The _Diliculum,_ in spite of her constant groaning throughout the storm-ladened seas, made landfall late afternoon after her three-month voyage. Her passengers let out hearty whoops and hollers as her anchor plunged into shallow waters, docking at the small port town called “Rippletide.” Ike underestimated the endurance seafarers required for their trade. His sail in Tellius paled in comparison to the one leaving it behind. Any longer, the crew risked scurvy, and Ike risked losing his mind to sheer boredom.

However, he seemed much more prepared than his unfortunate travel companions.

“ _Finally,_ ” Ranulf groused. His shoulder joints popped as he stretched, ears flicking about to catch the new, unfamiliar sounds. “Gods, I thought we’d never make. How do Beorc stay sane in such a tiny vessel?”

“By learning to not complain every fifteen minutes.” Soren emerged onto the deck with his meager belongings in tow. His gaze flickered toward the stony buildings and thatched roofs dotting the landscape before returning sardonic stare to Ranulf. “Or by not almost leaping off the deck every time a gull crossed our path.”

“Are you ever going to let that go? It was one time. One!”

His eyes glimmered with smug satisfaction. “How much are you willing to pay me?”

“So harsh!”

They both sounded more energetic than they had in weeks. Ike let out a relieved sigh before jabbing a thumb toward the lowered ramp.

“We should get going before the gulls get their revenge by eating our share of breakfast.”

Palm trees bowed in greeting as Ike led their trio through the busy docks. Townsfolk bustled through the cobblestone streets - merchants donning feathered caps bartered with the locals over fresh fish and wares. He eyed a meat stand, stomach growling, as Soren talked with an older woman feeding the gulls. Several moments later, he returned to Ike’s side holding a stack of small, colorful papers and a few pamphlets.

“Our money’s been exchanged,” he said, squinting at the bills. “The local language is similar to our own, but she said there are regional dialects throughout the continent that we might have difficulty with.”

Ranulf helped himself to one of the pamphlets. He skimmed it over and nodded in approval. “Mmhm. Yup. I see.” He shrugged. “I can’t read any of this.” 

Soren rolled his eyes and yanked it back. “I never said the _script_ was the same, you oaf.”

“Can _you_ read it then?”

“Forget that for now,” Soren pointedly dodged the question as he gestured toward the meat stand. “There are more pressing matters to address right now. Like Ike’s stomach.”

They scarfed down their late lunch on a little arched bridge overlooking a tiny inlet. Soren prattled out relevant details to where they landed between bites: a large continent called Orsterra, divvied up into eight districts. Rippletide resided in the “Coastlands,” which was to the southeast. Beyond towns and cities were pathways filled with aggressive monsters, and many recommended hiring mercenaries for safer travels.

“Maybe we could offer our services,” Ike suggested, but Ranulf flicked his tail at him in disapproval.

“We’re on vacation, remember? _Vacation._ ” He waggled his forefinger. “All work and no play makes a man dull, as Beorc say. Besides, we have no idea what kind of tricks’ll work on those beasties. Let’s find out for ourselves before taking up the sword for others, yeah?”

“If they’re anything like you,” Soren interjected, “then fire should do the trick. But I’m more concerned about this land’s origins. They’re mere ‘fun fact’ summaries, but supposedly, there’s over thirteen gods in written legend.”

“Thirteen?! We could barely handle two!” 

“Exactly.” His brow furrowed as he looked to Ike. “If I knew before I suggested taking this trip, then I would have taken a different route to a different location. I should have been more thorough, but on such short notice, I cut corners.” He scowled. “I’m…”

Ike held up his hand. “Don’t apologize. It’s fine. If anything happens, we’ll help take care of it. But Ranulf’s right - we’re on vacation for once. Enjoy it.”

The conversation veered into a more comfortable tone; Soren diverted his talks into more fun facts (“There’s a town called ‘Victor’s Hollow’ that holds contests of strength in an arena. We’ll make sure to stop there.”) while Ranulf closed his eyes and bathed in the warm sunlight. His mind wandered elsewhere from their discussion. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, the three of them. Ike intended to set out alone.

But - 

(Compared to the celebratory festivities from last night, Sienne’s prized cathedral remained in blessed silence as dawn breached the horizon. He stood beneath the dome, staring upward at the luscious artwork depicting the now-slumbering Ashera. The artist gifted her with beautiful blonde ringlets and soft eyes gazing at Tellius - a far cry from reality. In his mind’s eye, he could still see Ragnell’s golden blade shimmering in her ethereal glow before impaling the goddess back to whence she came.

_It’s over now,_ Mist said, pulling him into a tight hug as the world returned to normal, _it’s okay now. Father can finally rest easy.’_

Father might be able to, but Ike found himself irritable and _un_ easy. He thought relinquishing Ragnell back to Begnion would help matters, but an unpleasant itch burned beneath his flesh. It grew worse the longer the mercenaries stayed within Begnion’s borders, and he knew that even when they returned to Crimea, it would keep _getting_ worse. Something out there beckoned him to see more, as if he already hadn’t seen enough.

Mist knew. During the party, she approached him before he retired for the night, her cheeks flushed with one too many drinks. Who allowed her to drink mead, only the heavens knew, but after all they’d been through he figured he could let it slip. Her eyes welled up with a quiet, sad acceptance. He never gave her enough credit for how well she understood him despite his rudimentary ways with words. She pressed a hand against his chest, pushing him to take a small silk bag.

_When you can,_ she whispered. _We’ll be okay, so don’t think twice._

_...Goodnight, Ike._

The bound piece of paper, with the old Griel Mercenaries’ home base postage scrawled on it with a shaky hand, sat in his pocket as a tiny reminder to the familiar. Even though his penmanship was garbage, the least he could do was write to her from time to time. If wherever he went had a postal service.

He readjusted the bag slung over his shoulder, then turned on his heel toward the main entrance. Fresh, nippy spring air greeted him, the cool breeze sweeping across Sienne’s gray and barren streets. He soaked in the capital’s grandness one last time, and then, having had his fill of proper social etiquette and arbitrary pompousness, strode to leave once and for all.

He took that first step, followed by his chin colliding against the walkway, arms splayed across the ground. A warm weight purred above him.

“Geez, _someone’s_ lost in thought all alone out here, aren’t they?”

“Ranulf,” Ike wheezed out, and the weight pinning him lifted. He sat up. “What are you doing up this early?”

“I’ve been following you. Keeping an eye on your back, since you clearly aren’t with it right now. You shoulda heard me _ages_ ago, you know?” He jabbed a thumb toward a pillar down the half-enclosed alleyway. “But the guy over there’s the real reason. He knew you’d try to pull something like this.”

A beat passed. With a sigh, Soren emerged from behind the pillar, tucking loose strands of hair behind his ear. His unkempt appearance told tales of a frantic man casting aside his comfortable morning routine to give chase to his absconding commander - not that he would ever admit it. A rolled up map jutted out from his lightly packed bag slung over his shoulder.

“Ike.” His tried to keep his expression aloof, but his eyes, much like Ranulf’s, whispered desperation. He glanced toward the imposing gateway, where stationed soldiers awaited to crank open the fortified walls separating them from the open road. “You,” he continued after a moment, “are an idiot if you think you could go off by yourself.”

Ike scratched the back of his head and turned away. “Didn’t think you’d want to ditch your homeland and everyone you knew to come with some sellsword like me, to be honest.”

“Wow.” Ranulf whistled, then whacked Ike’s shoulder with a little more force than necessary. “Drink a little too much last night? ‘Cause that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Of _course_ we’d wanna come with you! You realize how we both feel about you, right?”

“ _Ranulf._ ” Soren folded his arms across his chest.

“What? I’m right, aren’t I? I mean,” his tail flicked, “Ike and I are on _pretty_ good terms, and I know you two snuck off to have that heart-to-heart before we went and kinda sorta killed a god but not reallyish like the coolest cats in the citadel, so why’re we beating around the bush?” He hooked an arm around Ike’s neck, winking. “You can’t ditch your two ‘best friends,’ and that’s that. So! Where we headin’?”

“Nowhere, if we don’t hurry it up and leave before everyone else wakes.” Soren strode ahead of them, with Ranulf gingerly following a moment later. He stopped, and quirked an eyebrow. “Ike?”

For the first time since scaling the tower, a warm, bubbling laugh escaped Ike’s lips. It echoed off the stone walls. 

“Coming,” he said at last, hurrying to catch up. “You two are such pieces of work.”

“Please.” Soren rolled his eyes, though his smile betrayed his feigned exasperation. “You wouldn’t have us any other way.”)

\- it didn’t happen that way, and Ike was happy for it.

Soren successfully netted them a room at the inn to recover for the day, albeit with one large bed (“You came at a busy time, dears,” the old innkeep said with a furrowed brow, “so I’m afraid it’s all I have left”). However, the bay window overlooking the harbor more than compensated for limited accommodations. The room’s spaciousness was nothing to sneeze at, either. Ike set down his pack and laid claim to the lone cushioned chair, muscles weary.

“A real bed!” Ranulf all but catapulted himself onto it, hogging most of the blankets. “Gods, if I had one more night of curling up on bedrolls, I’d snap. _And_ I don’t have to be Soren’s pillow anymore.”

Ike raised an eyebrow, and Soren’s lips drew into a tight line, bristling. “You swore to secrecy not to share that with anyone else.”

“Ike isn’t ‘anyone else,’ and besides, ain’t nothing wrong with us getting a little cuddly.” He patted the open space next to him. “C’mon, live a little. Vacation.”

“I’m starting to hate that word.” Regardless, Soren, after carefully untying his boots and removing his protective gear, joined him. He made a face as Ranulf tucked an arm underneath his neck, but his typical snark seemed to evade him. Instead, he glanced at Ike, and motioned for him to follow suit. He blinked.

“There’s no way I’m fitting on there.”

“Aw, yes you can too. See?” Ranulf tugged Soren closer, grinning ear to ear in spite of his bed mate’s huffy protests. “We can make a Soren sandwich.”

“You will do no such thing.”

Ike, despite better judgment, found himself grinning as well. He rose to his feet and walked over to the bed before pausing. Poor Soren’s pale ears burned a deep red to match his eyes. Ranulf’s smile turned sly.

_How did we get like this?_

How, indeed - during King Ashnard’s maddened conquest, during Ashera’s forcibly imposed judgment of the realm, he never spared a thought to courtship. Women like Aimee who brazenly flirted with him failed to understand his inability to reciprocate; all his spare time became devoted to usurping the Black Knight’s impenetrable defenses and extracting vengeance on behalf of his late father. But that quest to an end. It ended, and left Ike with an aimless, purposeless void ever expanding in his soul.

Which allowed _them_ to worm themselves into the crevices, at long last.

(“Years,” Soren muttered tiredly, watching a wine bottle sway back and forth with the ship. “I’ve known for years.”

“Wow, you have a lotta patience. I kinda figured it out after everyone turned to stone. My relief was stronger finding out _he_ was okay than my own charge!” Ranulf laughed, then nudged Soren’s shoulder. “Well, at least you don’t gotta keep it to yourself anymore. Right, Ike?”

With a heavy swallow and a lighter heart, Ike nodded once. “...Right.”)

He should have asked for tips from someone like Gartrie or, hell, even _Boyd,_ whose advances with his sister didn’t go entirely unnoticed. Twenty years, and not a single shred of experience for how to care for someone more than as a friend. Now he has _two_ someones, both of whom were blessedly patient with him, but gods he wished he knew what to do - especially now since they were going to be travel companions. How did he even _feel?_

Nervous, for one. The same jitters he had when he needed to give a speech to Princess Elincia’s army spread the same goosebumps across his skin. Yet there was something else to it, something _warm_ and tingling, instead of the cold sweat that broke across his eighteen-year-old brow.

He took off his cape, draped it over the rickety wooden chair close to the bedside, and joined them. The bed creaked with the new addition. A couple of shifts, a few repositions, and they somehow made it work - much to Soren’s chagrin.

“Don’t get used to this,” he grumbled. In Soren speak, that meant he liked it. Maybe.

Outside, waves lapped at the sandy beaches, stretching and ebbing, as the gulls squawked and hollered about fresh fish. Beside him, Soren’s soft exhales and Ranulf’s light purrs filled the gaps of silence. This. This was it - this _feeling_ was what he wants, what he searched for. Between the thrill of the fight and getting stronger, this quietude shared between two good friends - companions - _partners -_ filled that purposelessness.

A normal life, shared with them - with a few adventures here and there. 

What more could he ask for?

***

When he dozed off, Ike wasn’t sure; he only knew that morning came faster than anticipated. His fingers got tangled in Soren’s hair, and his other hand pressed against the center of Ranulf’s back. The realization woke him faster. His eyes snapped open, and he sat up - slowly, carefully, as to not wake them - before letting out a large yawn. He swung his legs over the bed, muscles less sore with the much-needed rest. Breakfast. His stomach demanded food. Plus, it would be a good excuse to take a look at their new surroundings a little bit more with more awake eyes.

He paused while getting dressed, looking over his armor. It weighed a ton, and bore numerous nicks from a myriad of otherwise fatal strikes. He frowned, then, as a first, set it back down. He didn’t need it today. He wouldn’t wear it today.

Today, he wasn’t Commander Ike. He was Just Ike. And Just Ike wanted to eat his weight’s worth in sausages.

He stopped in the doorway, glancing over at the still snoozing Soren and Ranulf. He’d have to bring something back for them, too. A small smile crossed his lips, and he slipped into the hall, closing the door gently behind him.

Rippletide reminded him of a small nameless town back in Crimea; compact, but full of vibrancy within its citizens. Even in the early morning, he spotted fishermen lining their stalls with their catches and merchants fixing their tables to look as appealing as possible. He purchased some fish for Ranulf, some weird greens for Soren, and munched on a tasty kebob the seller described as “a true meat lover’s fantasy.” It wasn’t quite fantasy levels for him, but it did the job.

He started toward the bridge until a metal glint caught his eye. On the edge of a merchant’s stall, a trio of rings sat unceremoniously, dwarfed by its shinier and lustrous competition. His munches slowed to a stop, then swallowed, before picking up one of the rings and holding it above his head. In the morning sun, it was in desperate need of a good polish, but its intricate design stood out among the rest.

“Howdy, mister!” A chipper lass sporting a yellow feathered cap swooped over, eyes sparkling at the potential sale. “Top of the day to ya! Can I help you?”

Ike held the ring to her. “How much for all three?”

Her eyebrows lifted, blinking at the ring, then glancing back at Ike. “Wait. Really? You _want_ to buy these? I’ve been trying to for a whole year, and not a single person even batted an eye at ‘em! See, see.” She picked up the other two rings and placed them in a small, sheer bag adorned with a cutesy yellow ribbon. “I found them when I was traveling. Someone left them close to a crashed ship, and they were _coated_ in rust. Took me ages to get it off, haha!”

“That’s a lot of effort for a find.”

“I specialize in treasures.” She plucked the third ring from the palm of his hand and placed it into the bag with a smile. “If it calls to me, I take it with me, ‘cause I just know _someone_ will be looking for them. Someone’s trash is another’s goldmine! And these three rings, they were so close by to each other just _waiting_ for someone to wear ‘em. I couldn’t just turn a blind eye. And now you’re here, at long last!”

She made it out to be like destiny, the way she talked. However, her little speech oozed with such enthusiasm that Ike couldn’t help but be charmed. He exchanged some of the little papers (“Leaves,” the merchant called them) for the rings.

“Keep ‘em clean, yeah?” She winked. “I don’t want to find them all rusty in the sand again.”

“Don’t worry.” He placed the little bag into his pocket, and the rings jingled together with tiny clinks. “You won’t.”

“Take care mister! Enjoy the sunshine! Should be a doozy today if the winds will it.”

Soren would call such a purchase a “misguided impulse buy,” and usually, Ike would agree. However, as the rings jingled together in his pocket, a staunch feeling spread across his skin, undeterred by all monetary logic. To him, they were like an anchor to a speeding boat crashing through the unknown seas. A promise of a home, no matter how far they traveled, and no matter if they settled at all. 

Even if they wandered as the wind goes, they still had each other.

A smile crossed his lips. Romantist scholars may have had a point in saying, “Home is where the heart is.” But he’d have to find proper timing to give the rings to them; it couldn’t just be random. So not today - but perhaps during their trek across the country. He inhaled slowly - the taste of the sea never grew old - and started heading back toward the inn. He hesitated at the bedroom door, then knocked twice. 

“Ike?”

“I smell _fish._ Hurry up and get in here, I’m _starving._ ”

His thumb traced the outlines of the rings as he pushed open the door. Upon seeing them, slightly less disheveled than their sleeping counterparts, his anticipating heart calmed, and his shoulders relaxed. 

He grinned.

“I’m home.”


End file.
